In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have
by Virodeil
Summary: For B2MeM 2012 Days 10, 13, 14, 17 and 28. Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?
1. Chapter 1: Nothing Like a Dream

Title: In dreams, To Whom I Never Have: Nothing Like a Dream  
Author: Eärillë

Number: B7  
Challenge: Occupations: Blacksmith

Summary:  
Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. A seven-year-old Ginny Weasley experiences that first-hand. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?

Rating: G  
Warnings: first draft

Characters: Fëanor, Ginny Weasley, OC's  
Genres: Crossover, Mystery  
Place: Tirion: outside of  
Timeline: Year of Trees: Noontide of Valinor  
Word Count (in MS Word): 1,528

Notes: The author originally wanted to post this fic for SWG's Birthday Challenge in 2010, but did not get it in time. With a few additions and tweaks, here it is again, presented anew. And the credit again goes to Dawn Felagund's marvellous work Another Man's Cage, of which the author borrowed many things for this (chaptered) story. It is all in third person limited point of view and past tense, though, unlike in AMC.

**In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have  
Chapter 1: Nothing Like a Dream**

Ginny blinked. The first thing she noticed was the heat, and a cacophony of metallic clanking that grated at her ears. Then the smell hit her nose, and it was all she could do not to vomit. – Sour like vinegar, metallic like blood. – And then she noticed odd people working on what looked like sturdy, crude kitchen counters by each an… open stove?

She pinched her nose and padded closer to one of the graceful, other-wordly people with long hairs, who seemed to be instructing the two others. (However they could hear what he was saying, she did not know.) The heat was nearly unbearable, close to the working area, but she swallowed the discomfort as best as she could. She had to find out where she was, and also the way home. (There was no way she would stay in this horrid place.)

She remembered her mother tucking her in for the night, and it had been such a peaceful night… This was far from peaceful, and it did not feel like a dream at all. Everything was so real, including the grit and filths on packed-dirt floor that pricked uncomfortably at the soles of her bare feet–

Bare feet?

She looked down at herself, and found that she was garbed in her rattiest but most comfortable nightdress.

It was really, really not a dream. Someone had taken her elsewhere, straight from her bed.

But who?

Ginny went into a full-blown panic. And following the frightening discovery, her knees bumped the crude kitchen counter, and she nearly fell on top of it. It was right as the man who worked on that section laid a white-hot bar of metal on it –, straight from the flames of the open stove to the side of the counter. She shrieked.

A pair of lithe but strong arms prevented her from a very, very unpleasant contact with the metal bar. They righted her up on her feet, but she found herself unable to stand straight. Her knees buckled, and she hastily grasped the edges of the counter for support. Her breath choked in her throat as the shock set in. The heat had been so, so intense and so near, as if hungering for her flesh.

A slender finger tilted her chin up, and Ginny looked into her saviour's eyes. Glowing, brilliant grey… almost like the metal bar. – She looked away and whimpered.

What sounded like a woman's voice spoke behind her, seeming to address the man. But the man did not answer. He just stepped aside, bringing Ginny with him, and motioned at the nearly-molten metal bar on the counter. Ginny did not understand what he meant with that, nor what the woman-like voice had said, but the man did not elaborate more, neither with gestures nor words. He guided her away from the working area, firmly but not unkindly, and steered her towards a closed door on the far side of the large room.

What she had hoped was open air, however, turned out to be yet another room; smaller and filled with knickknacks, as if an experiment room of some sort. (She knew, because her father had one in their run-down shed, which her mother was oblivious about for the time being.)

But she did not have chance to inspect the room in detail, since the man swiftly – yet still gently, somehow – turned her around to face him. The door clicked shut behind him, kicked by a booted foot.

Ginny gulped, her lips trembling. Her heart pounded in her chest and ears. This was worse than it had been in the filthy, hot, smelly room behind that door. Her parents' oft-repeated caution and advice about dealing with strangers came up in her mind, but it only made her feel more wretched instead of comforted. She wanted to succumb to tears, but somehow she got the feeling that the man might do worse to her if she did cry.

For now, though, the man only studied her closely. – She could feel his eyes, sharp as an eagle's and glowing like a wolf's, from her (tangled-haired) head to (bare) toes. – What did he find? What was in his mind? She found herself hoping he decided she was unworthy of his attention and dismissed her, now. But she did not know where she was, and had nothing to survive alone…

And then the man spoke. His voice was light, rich, melodious, almost like a woman's. It entranced her, like what Bill had told her about some type of enchantment placed on cursed sites at sea. (It had earned her poor eldest brother a week of punishment, when their mother had found out, after catching her five-year-old self trying to recreate the enchantment on their frog-pond.) Was this the man's way of luring her from her fright, then? What would he do with her after she had truly fallen into his grasp?

Steel entered the man's tone now, sheathed in velvet, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Ginny cringed and cowered away, bumping against what felt like the edge of a sturdy working table. How had he known?

He stepped towards her and grasped her shoulders, although not harshly. With firm gentleness, he steered her towards the door, and reached a hand over her left shoulder to turn the door handle. Ginny wished she knew what he intended to do with her, or where he would bring her; but he did not even talk to her now, perhaps realising the futility of it.

He guided her past the large room, ignoring the other two people's open stares. A double door stood on the other side of the room, and this he opened slightly to let them out.

A well-tended, well-grown lawn welcomed Ginny's nose and vision, looking so familiar and smelling like home and more to her. (It looked more alive, more vibrant than even the most magical site she had ever visited, but it still felt like home.) Stepping out onto the grass, she inhaled the fragrant afternoon air deeply and arched a shaky smile. Like home, definitely, despite everything.

The man noticed it. – His impassive look flickered briefly with an unidentifiable emotion. – But he said nothing, and his pace never faltered.

A house stood a distance away, a sprawling mass on the horizon. It reminded Ginny of the Burrow, her own home. But while her ancestral house looked rather odd, this building was magnificent in its own way. (Of course, it helped that this building did not lean to one side as if about to collapse.) Fields and gardens and woods surrounded it. – And how she longed to play and run free, exploring those enticing, delightful open spaces!

(The familiar yet alien view ignited her homesickness anew, but she quelled it as best as she could. It was easier thinking about how to live her life here than trying to find her way home. Surely a day would not matter? She would resume her attempt then, and she would probably be home before her parents went into a frantic search. Then she would be free of their lectures too, unlike her closest older brother Ron yesterday. (He had been missing for the whole day, and Charlie had found him in their pond near dusk, trying to catch some fish for Mum's birthday.) So, with that thought in mind, her steps became much lighter, and she was even skipping slightly the closer they got to the odd mansion. (Or was that a small fenceless castle?)

She peeked at the man strolling beside her when she became aware of her show of merriment and embarrassed by it. To her dismay, she noticed that a tiny smile was playing on his lips. She read pride for his home on his countenance, like her father had oftentimes displayed in greater measure on his home-coming. But she could also detect another, stronger emotion lurking beneath this man's smile, and that put a damper on her joy. She could somehow sense that it was about her, but she did not know what he was specifically thinking about, and that alarmed her.

She would take all that she could get if the man would not harm her, though. Now that she again remembered how she had ended up in that terrifying hall of open stoves and white-hot metal bars and how odd the people and place were actually, she felt so tired…

It was definitely not home, however faithfully she compared it to the Burrow. And right now, she only wanted her familiar bed at home, with her six older brothers banging around the tilting, rickety house and Mum and Dad silencing the howling ghoul in their attic.

She lagged behind, but the man only seemed to notice her after a few strides. She stiffened when he returned to her, looking oddly baffled, but she did not struggle when he picked her up and stroked her back. Only then she realised that she was crying silently, and now her tears mixed with the man's soot-covered tunic. It was not long though before she went into a light doze.

The man was too much like Dad…


	2. Chapter 2: Colours of a Dream

Title: In dreams, To Whom I Never Have: Colours of a Dream  
Author: Eärillë

Number: I21  
Challenges:  
1. Colours: Purple  
2. Emotions: Awe  
3. Silmarillion vs Harry Potter Matches: Fëanor vs Ginny Weasley

Summary:  
Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. A seven-year-old Ginny Weasley experiences that first-hand. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?

Rating: G  
Warnings: first draft

Characters: Maedhros, Maglor, Fëanor, Ginny Weasley  
Genres: Crossover, Friendship, Mystery  
Place: Tirion: outside of  
Timeline: Year of Trees: Noontide of Valinor  
Word Count (in MS Word): 1,220

Notes:  
The author originally wanted to post this fic for SWG's Birthday Challenge in 2010, but did not get it in time. With a few additions and tweaks, here it is again, presented anew. And the credit again goes to Dawn Felagund's marvellous work Another Man's Cage, of which the author borrowed many things for this (chaptered) story. It is all in third person limited point of view and past tense, though, unlike in AMC.  
In this chapter (and the next ones), Maedhros (Maitimo, Russandol, Nelyo) is 48 years old, Maglor (Makalaurë or Káno) is 39 years old, Celegorm (Tyelkormo or Turko) is 14 years old, and Caranthir (Carnistir or Moryo) is 3 years old. In human standard, their ages are roughly comparable to (respectively) 16 ½, 15, 7 and 3 (or 2 ½) years old.

**In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have  
Chapter 2: Colours of a Dream**

Ginny regained awareness still resting against the man's shoulder, held securely and cradled like a child much smaller than she was. It embarrassed her to no end, and yet she was inwardly pleased. Her father had not held her like this for quite a long time, being too busy with his job in the Ministry of Magic and his Muggle toys, and she had forgotten how it had felt. It was so comfortable…

The man did a sitting-down motion and she could not help but stir. Where had he brought her to? It felt slightly different from the large open field they had traversed before. For one, there was a lot of tree-shade here, like in the woods near her home.

She raised her head slightly and peeked over his shoulder. Spying red apples hanging from a low branch, she suspected that they were sitting in an orchard. It baffled her though. She had not glimpsed anything resembling even a clump of trees on their way to the weird mansion! How big was the man's home then? The thought alone daunted her, but she did not dare raise any objection when the man put her down on the bench beside him. He left then, and she felt bereft like she had never before even when Bill – her eldest brother – had first gone to Hogwarts. It did not help that he did not return for a long time, during which she only dared look around, touching nothing and sitting nearly motionless on the garden bench.

At length though, she spied something that made her greatly curious. Breeze was stirring the leaves of the apple trees around her, and light filtered through the leaves and branches here and there along the rustling motion of the trees. But it was not the ordinary daylight that she had suspected. Instead, it was a rich gold colour that would make the sun pale in comparison. It made her want to touch it, to feel it, to seek it...

She jumped down from the bench as if in a trance, scampering along the path and looking up, always looking up to the gaps in the foliage. Was this why everything had looked so much more vibrant back then in the lawn? Because there was something that rivalled the sun here? Was it even possible?

And then, after much stumbling and flailing, she came suddenly upon a grassy clearing ringed by pear trees and purple-flowered bushes.

However briefly she had been in this strange place, she had taken for granted how green and nearly-translucent the grass-blades were. And now the ambient light also made the soft purple hue of the wide-petalled flowers so much richer…

She gazed long at the flowers, taking in and admiring their beauty, then laid herself on the grass and looked up towards the sky.

There was no sun there. Instead, a flickering light bathed the expanse with a bright, bold golden hue that seemed so… alive, for lack of a better word. Ginny watched every minute shift of the golden shades avidly, her mouth gaping. It was so beautiful! So other-worldly, yet somehow recogniseable and so lovely…

It topped off all the rich things she had seen so far.

She loved it.

But what was it?

She wanted to touch it, dance with it, hold it, be one with it…

As taken as she was with the view above, she was not aware of a shadow looming nearby. She only realised that she had company when a fingertip alit softly on her right shoulder, startling her. Sitting up and curling into a defensive position, she stared wide-eyed at the intruder of her peace.

Which turned out to be the man from earlier. He was gazing oddly at her, with the familiar sharpness but with more calculation involved. The emotion lurking in the depths of his bright grey eyes was more prominant too, tickling at her sense of curiosity mercilessly. What was he thinking about? Where had he been? Why so long? Why had he come back again? What would he do to her now?

He reached out a hand at her, palm up, as if in supplication, gift-giving… or an offer to come with him. She stared at the appendage with uncertainty and no small amount of apprehention. Where would he lead her to? What was his intention with her then? Would she be safe with him?

Her stomach growled with hunger. It decided it for her. Shily – and hoping that he would not betray her trust – she unclasped her right hand from her left one around her knees and lay it atop the man's.

It was like a tightly-coreographed drama or a careful dance, the way he almost gingerly curled his fingers around hers and grasp her hand, rising up and pulling her with him. But they did not immediately walk away. Instead, he seemed to take his time scrutinising her – again – from head to toe, as if discovering something he had missed before and in – dared she hope? – hidden delight.

When he finally looked away, she peeked aside to the rest of the clearing, saying a silent good-bye. It was too lovely to leave so soon, with the lush grass and purple flowers and golden not-sun, but she did not dare defy the mysterious, scary man.

Her heart leapt when he dragged her to one of the bushes, which bore the most flowers. He picked one of the biggest purple flowers and slipped it amidst her tangled hair, all in a nonchalant manner, as if they had done this for countless times already.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest squeezed painfully. Dad…

They immediately left the clearing, thankfully. Ginny did not know how long she could fend back her tears, if they had staid longer. Her home-sickness had returned with a vengeance. But she also did not know if there would be others that would incite the tears anew once they left the orchard, as she knew absolutely nothing of this place and the people in it. Did the man have family? How would they react when – or if? – he presented her to them? Would he ever present her to them in the first place?

Her uncertainty was soothed when they once again crossed the large expanse of lawn towards the sprawling house.

Two horse-riders were crossing the field closest to the house in a leisurely pace, two people looking to be Bill's age who bore rather close resemblance to the man whose hand was gripping her own tightly. (They seemed to be returning from a trip, judging from the bags and bundles they carried on the backs of their horses.) They seemed to notice the unlikely pair and zoned in on her; and their curious gaze, sensed even from afar, sharpened. Ginny wished she could shrink into herself and hide among the lush grass, or perhaps behind the man's back. But the man waved them away, in the same pointed manner, and they obeyed.

Ginny and the man crossed the remaining distance from the house afterwards without any other incident. She felt strangely pleased about that, and how the man had handled who most likely were his relatives, if not his sons. She was more assured that he would protect her, if everything went figuratively downhill.


	3. Chapter 3: Feelings in a Dream

Title: In dreams, To Whom I Never Have: Feelings in a Dream  
Author: Eärillë

Number: B15  
Challenges:  
1. Textures: Rough  
2. Weather: Hot

Summary:  
Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. A seven-year-old Ginny Weasley experiences that first-hand. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?

Rating: G  
Warnings: first draft

Characters: Caranthir, Celegorm, Maedhros, Maglor, Fëanor, Ginny Weasley, Nerdanel  
Genres: Crossover, Friendship, Mystery  
Place: Tirion: outside of  
Timeline: Year of Trees: Noontide of Valinor  
Word Count (in MS Word): 1,701

Notes:  
The author originally wanted to post this fic for SWG's Birthday Challenge in 2010, but did not get it in time. With a few additions and tweaks, here it is again, presented anew. And the credit again goes to Dawn Felagund's marvellous work Another Man's Cage, of which the author borrowed many things for this (chaptered) story. It is all in third person limited point of view and past tense, though, unlike in AMC.  
In this chapter (and the next ones), Maedhros (Maitimo, Russandol, Nelyo) is 48 years old, Maglor (Makalaurë or Káno) is 39 years old, Celegorm (Tyelkormo or Turko) is 14 years old, and Caranthir (Carnistir or Moryo) is 3 years old. In human standard, their ages are roughly comparable to (respectively) 16 ½, 15, 7 and 3 (or 2 ½) years old.

Edit: Thank you for Fortune Zyne for faithfully reviewing this story and nudging this bad author to update it. She is truly sorry that she has seemed to neglect this piece for such a long time; but work at her school drowned her for more than a month and she was powerless to affect it by any means. This story will be updated again only after this month has ended, also, sadly, since the author is currently embroiled in Camp NaNoWriMo, a crazy writing contest that demands its participants to make a 50,000-word novel in a month. Would you wish her luck?

**In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have  
Chapter 3: Feelings in a Dream**

Without her quite realising it, the man had brought Ginny to what she presumed was the front door of the odd mansion.

– Which turned out to be the back door, instead, as she found out when he opened it for her. She stepped into a large kitchen, which was occupied by a dark-auburn-haired woman and two little boys (one fair-haired and the other dark-haired), who were busy preparing a meal. Who would let in a guest through the back door and kitchen? Mum would have railed at her if she had done that to anyone.

But she could pretend that it was her mother she was seeing, and a smaller version of Ron and herself… almost.

The woman looked up from overseeing the boys pealing potatoes, and frowned. Her gaze fell heavily on Ginny, and then the man coming up behind her.

"Fëanáro," she… greeted? – said to the man, ignoring Ginny for a moment – to her relief.

The man only stepped casually to Ginny's side, at first. But then, when he had settled (casually, as if it were an everyday occasion) beside her, he said something in the beautiful language of the beautiful people to the woman while gesturing at himself and Ginny, then took her hand in his own.

The woman nodded, although reluctantly, so Ginny supposed that he must have asked for a favour of her, and she had granted it to him. (But what?)

And the said woman was now staring sharply at Ginny, up and down and thoroughly, as if she were a potion ingredient or a piece of work to be scrutinised and judged. Twice now she had to endure such a look, and she found she detested it. What was it with these people and powerful, searching stares? It eclipsed that of the great Albus Dumbledore, the one time he had visited the Burrow for a spot of tea and a – private – talk with her parents!

Did it have something to do with the favour asked by the man? The woman had indeed looked reluctant…

So she was going to be welcomed here by pure charity? Would the family despise her more and more the longer she staid?

Ginny shrank away, pressing her back flat against the doorjam, trying to stem her tears. Only then the woman released her from her gaze, turning away to once again confront the man. She said something to him, gesturing at Ginny, and he nodded. Then she said something to the little boys, who bobbed their heads – unenthusiastically – in assent. Her weary countenance then would have looked just natural on Ginny's own mother: exhaustion of raising many boisterous children at once.

– Mum…

It was harder to stem her tears now, Ginny found out, as she tried to hide her face underneath her tangled red locks, making the purple flower the man had slipped in there dangle into her vision. (The flower had felt like ages ago…) Her chest squeezed painfully, and she felt like a single rabbit eyed by a hungry eagle; lonely and afraid.

When the woman's eyes returned to Ginny, though, they had surprisingly softened from the earlier sharp, heavy suspicion. – They were kind and… concerned, almost. – It was a huge leap of change to Ginny, one that nearly tipped her balance figuratively and literally. But she was not going to complain about this new, unexpected development.

When the woman beckoned her, she followed the older female across the hallway with only a slight hesitation, and a brief glance at the man. (He was glaring down at the two little boys, who were doing exactly what the woman – their mother? – might have feared: playing with the vegetables instead of chopping them.)

The pair walked quietly for a while, as they passed rooms after rooms and hallways after hallways set in a convoluted manner. Ginny despised the silence, since it was awkward and laden with subtle tension, but she could not do anything to dissolve it. (Anything that would not mean more trouble for her, anyway.) – It was not her wish to be spirited here, for Merlin's sake! She had been contented with her life…

Had she?

But she had always hoped that her father would gain fame and a good fortune, had she not? And she had always wished herself bigger, stronger, so that her elder brothers would not see it fit to mollycoddle her (and subsequently keep her out of the fun things), had she not? And she had always dreamt a better chance at living, more opportunity for her to study what she really wanted to study, had she not? She wanted to be a musician like the Weird Sisters (her favourite band), an artisan, a writer, an explorer…

This family, this place, seemed to offer her all, and then some. Was it right and good for her to gripe all along, then? She wanted to be a Gryffindor when she went to Hogwarts, and Gryffindors would not baulk from adventure and adversity.

But would there still be Hogwarts, let alone Gryffindor, when she was old enough for it?

No, no, she did not want to think about it right now.

The woman led her into a side hall and a single door, at last. They stood awkwardly, facing each other, in the sitting-room beyond the door. But while Ginny looked away wishing miserably that she were in her old home and rickety bed, the woman regarded her in that strange, unnerving manner of these beautiful people. (She knew, since such a gaze could hardly be missed.) The suspicion was back, although it was now tempered with hesitation and concern. Still, Ginny had to stifle an instinctive urge to hunker down in self defence.

The woman smiled knowingly, but said nothing in response to the gestural confirmation. Instead, in an almost business-like tone, she pointed to herself and said, "Nerdanel." There was a vague warning in her look as she patted her lower belly and counted with her fingers slowly, saying, "Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir." It was as if she wanted to say, "I have four children. Hurt them on your peril."

They locked stares. Ginny looked away first, but only after she glimpsed yet another unidentifiable emotion, similar to that is shown by the man, lurking in the depths of the woman's eyes. It unnerved her, and yet it made her also curious.

The woman led her around the sitting-room and waved her hand as if saying, "please look around." Then she pointed at a smaller door leading away from the sitting-room and proceeded to go there.

Ginny did just that. She was glad to finally have a chance to leisurely look around. (She had been too nervous and afraid to do so before.) And what a marvel to behold! She could ignore the stifling heat permeating the space around her, the characteristics of a room which had not been opened for a long time and left under the direct mercy of strong sunlight. She could ignore virtually everything now, even though she had always felt icky when sweat had begun to bathe her like this.

The room alone was… exquisite, to say the least. It was beyond the best and most beautiful of all the magical sites she and her family had ever visited. And she had visited many, in spite of her family's poverty. (The seven children her parents had never lacked in knowledge and education, if they did clothing and belongings.) It was, to her, magic at its peak, although it did not seem to be manifested obviously, like all the sites she had gone to before. Here, she felt as if everything was not built or made by human hands. So fitting, really, given how these people she had been dropped amongst looked as unearthly – but realer – than the little tree fairies in the Burrow's back garden.

The two windows there were currently shuttered, which explained the stifling air and the heat to her. The lighting which substituted natural illumination worked just as well, and was just as gorgeous in her opinion, although it did not help subside the heat. She could see neither flame nor Muggle steel-yarns in the round stones that emitted the cold, other-worldly blue glow, however. Spread out in strategic places to minimise shadows, the strange lamps illuminated the room in a way she could not give word to. It was… She was… She just wished…

And the paintings—! They were somehow realer and more life-like than the moving ones at home. Each depicted a person at work, and one particularly-big one captured the activities of a family – the people she had encountered so far, minus the two workers in the horrible hall she had gladly left behind. All of them were displayed beneath the illumination of a lantern each, as if the person who had put them there was quite proud of his works – or perhaps, his family?

She looked away. No, it was too unreachable – they were too unreachable.

She padded to a corner opposite the door, attracted (to her relief) to a portable fountain boasting the carving of a pair of dolphins in playful mid-leap, framed by a roughly-hewn stone basin and set on a narrow but sturdy nightstand. The dolphins, water spouting in rivulets from their tail, looked as if they could jump out of the large stone bowl any time soon, whistling and chattering. She loved them, their watery home and the rough perimeter somebody had so skilfully created to mimic natural stone. She could spend hours there, just listening to the music of the fountain while drawing or wittling. If only the lighting were a little warmer and the heat less oppressive…

She padded closer towards the merry little fountain and knelt in front of it, carefully fingering the rough rim of the stone basin, admiring the play of light on the fine sprays and how alive the dolphins looked. The water's song was so sweet. She could really spend hours listening to it, regardless of the illumination… if she could, of course.

And thus she was brought back to the reality of her situation, and the peace the water had lent her shattered like tiny shards of glass.


	4. Chapter 4: Little Brother, in a Dream

Title: In dreams, To Whom I Never Have: Little Brother, in a Dream  
Author: Eärillë

Number: B1  
Challenges:  
1. Smells: Pinetrees  
2. Textures: Bumpy

Summary:  
Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. A seven-year-old Ginny Weasley experiences that first-hand. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?

Rating: G  
Warnings: first draft

Characters: Caranthir, Ginny Weasley, Nerdanel  
Genres: Crossover, Friendship, Mystery  
Place: Tirion: outside of  
Timeline: Year of Trees: Noontide of Valinor  
Word Count (in MS Word): 2,799

Chapter Notes:  
The author originally wanted to post this fic for SWG's Birthday Challenge in 2010, but did not get it in time. With a few additions and tweaks, here it is again, presented anew. And the credit again goes to Dawn Felagund's marvellous work Another Man's Cage, of which the author borrowed many things for this (chaptered) story. It is all in third person limited point of view and past tense, though, unlike in AMC.  
In this chapter (and the next ones), Maedhros (Maitimo, Russandol, Nelyo) is 48 years old, Maglor (Makalaurë or Káno) is 39 years old, Celegorm (Tyelkormo or Turko) is 14 years old, and Caranthir (Carnistir or Moryo) is 3 years old. In human standard, their ages are roughly comparable to (respectively) 16 ½, 15, 7 or 6 and 3 (or 2 ½) years old.

Edit: Author Notes: I apologise for the long wait and the low quality of this particular chapter. (Trust me, you don't want to see the original piece, which has been binned anyway. Shows how 'greatly' I could write under duress… But still, even knowing it, I'm going to participate in next year's B2MeM. :wry:) I'm not satisfied with it; but I'm afraid if I left this piece for future beta-reading, it would still languish in my harddrive till after the New Year, given all the Christmas bustles in the social foundation I belong to in Decembre. So… apologies? And if somebody wished to beta-read for this story, I would be quite grateful. Umm, also, please don't expect a chapter of this length in the future too much. This one is long because of the details added to one of the scenes. (Apologies in advance, if that proves to bore you too.)

**In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have  
Chapter 4: Little Brother, in a Dream**

Something – or someone – let out a startled squeak behind her. Ginny pivoted on her knees, surprised herself – and dismayed, too, that she might have done something wrong. Was it actually permissible to admire the ornaments in the room from up close? Would she be thought wanting to steal or deface the items like she and her siblings were usually accused of in the museums they had visited?

When the sight before her registered in her mind, she blinked owlishly.

A small boy sat sprawled on the thick grey rug an arm's length away. The dark-haired littler one from earlier in the kitchen, in fact. Ginny winced inwardly. Was he there to tell her something? Or was he just curious, like she would if she were he? Then again, could such a small toddler like that – still a baby – talk in words and sentences?

And what should she do with the said toddler now? He looked so upset, and somehow she got the notion that it was related to her shattered peace. (Oh, was he a natural Legilimence? She had heard about it, briefly, from one of her parents' talks with Dumbledore.) He might look terrifying in rage, or perhaps even in happiness, with his ruddy complexion and black eyes and hair. But now he seemed just like an ordinary lost child – wide-eyed, with lips trembling as if holding back tears.

"What's your name?" she asked hesitantly, hoping she could still salvage the situation, and that he would understand her.

She felt both disappointed and vindicated when the little boy only let out an inarticulate "Aaaahh!" He did not seem too fond of spoken words, it seemed, or perhaps he was not yet able to speak. Sadly, she was not a Legilimence, or she would have tried to contact him mentally. And perhaps then, he would grace him with the sought answer, and a semblance of conversation? (It was what Bill – her eldest brother – had told her once, anyway; the actual theory and experience of that particular branch of magic remained elusive to her until now.)

Still, she had learnt from an early age that gestures could as well replace spoken words. So she shifted into a cross-legged position and opened her arms beckoningly at the little boy, smiling hopefully meanwhile.

He scampered towards her and plopped his little bottom into the hollow formed by her legs, and her heart sang with the jubilant feeling of accomplishment, relishing the alien-but-not-unwelcome experience of being trusted to hold a baby, even though the trust was given but by the baby himself and by no other. Leaning bonelessly against her, he looked up and stared right into her eyes, while suckling at his thumb contentedly. She felt as if she was being read like a book, but it was accompanied by a sense of curiosity and peace.

And then, a field of bright, happy yellow replaced her vision. She panicked. She only subsided when she realised that the yellow field was… familiar. It was so familiar that it was frightening in its own way, in the end – and she returned into panic mode. But the little boy was now coiled tightly in her embrace, working upwards to latch his miniscule arms around her neck, and she could not let go of him.

And then a word resounded in her mind, tearing the happy-yellow sheet like tearing a curtain. `_Carnistir._` And a sense of personality flooded her perception. It was that of the little boy. And he pointed out, through mental gestures only, that the yellow colour that made her want to dance and sing and skip was herself, her own being.

It was the most frightening of them all – a string of bizarreness that had been plaguing her since her arrival in this unrecogniseable world of beauty.

Her mind shut down in defense against the onslaught, unable to cope.

Ironically, the little boy – Carnistir? – brought her back to reality, by yelling in her left ear and pounding at her shoulders with sharp, tiny fists.

Ron was sometimes rougher in jest than this little one, not to mention the twins. Ginny could very well cope with it. But the woman from earlier seemed to disagree. Without her hearing any footsteps, Carnistir's mother – Nerdanel? – was already looming above the both of them and stared reproachfully at the poor toddler. Carnistir whined in protest before the woman could utter any word, but Ginny was more concerned with how she had ended up sprawled on the floor. Had she fainted? It might have appeared as if Carnistir had somehow pushed her to the floor, or as if she had decided to stretch out on the luxurious rug without the woman's leave. Either way, it might paint her a bad picture in the woman's eyes, and she was quite apprehensive about it.

Fortunately, to her utter relief, the woman's ire could be doused – at least temporarily – by her apologising, pleading stare. The toddler – Carnistir? – was pulled away from her and helped to stand though, while Nerdanel was also saying something to him, perhaps ordering him to do something. It made Ginny feel bereft, somehow; and judging from how the little one wailed in outraged protest and tried to return to her, Carnistir felt the same. Strange, indeed. Sadly, she could do nothing about it; despite her calmer bearing, Nerdanel looked more indomitable and irascible to her senses right now than her own mother, a feat she had previously thought impossible.

The woman, with Carnistir howling and struggling desperately in her embrace, led Ginny to the door she had previously entered, which turned out to be a quaint-but-comfortable looking bathroom. It was rather like the one in the Burrow, except that this was larger and looked almost brand-new and quite beautiful, like everything Ginny had seen so far in this strange new world. The soothing scent of pine-needles wafted up from the slightly-steaming bath-tub from the far side of the bathroom, attracting her nose and eyes instantly. But before she could examine the tantelising bath-tub further, the woman tugged back her attention by nudging gently at her feet with the tip of one booted foot, then nodded to one end of the bath tub, where it connected with a carved stone counter bearing the same pattern and colour to the tub itself. A pile of what looked like clothes lay there, beside a few crystal bottles more gorgeous than what her oldest brothers got for their Potions lessons at Hogwarts, and nearest to the steaming-and-fragrant tub lay a folded red towel with a wooden comb on top of it.

Were they all for her? But they looked so beautiful! Even the clearly-used pair of boots resting below the stone counter looked much less warn than the boots she was used to wearing, which had been Ron's once, and before that one of the twins'.

But she was a stranger, an intruder… Why did they treat her so nicely? What did they want in return? Because most people looked down on her family, in her experience, whether they ventured into the Wizarding World or the Muggle World, judging them from their shabby attire and numerous number; and those that acted nicely to any of her family always had a hidden agenda in mind, like that one time where a dark wizard had nearly succeeded in kidnapping her, to use her as a sacrifice in a dark ritual –

Ha. Did these people wish to make her into a ritual sacrifice, then?

But Carnistir shrieked louder, as if offended and angry by her suspicious assumption, and the gloomy train of thoughts was broken. Ginny started back into reality, feeling guilty for her own suspicion against the odd family she had been dumped into. She was just in time to see Nerdanel pointing at the assortment of things on the stone counter, at her, then at the bath-tub. Well, apparently all of those things were lent to her, to help her clean herself, in the least… What could she do except to accept?

She gave Nerdanel a tentative, shy smile and, feeling utterly silly about it but truly grateful for the kind gesture she had been given, courtsied to the woman. She had ever seen such a gesture performed in the home of one of the oldest families in the Wizarding community, such a family that still kept – and could afford – human servants instead of house-elves. The receiver of the courtsy at that time had seemed to enjoy it and respected the servant in turn in his own way, so she thought why not now? Well, she was not this family's servant, but perhaps she could pay for her own upkeep here by being their temporary servant? Her parents had always stressed on the principle of not stooping to getting or – worse – begging for charity, so she had to repay this family one way or another. That would give her the excuse to cuddle with the little boy too.

She would rather that he stop shrieking so loudly though, as his mother was carrying him out of the bathroom and closed the solid wooden door behind her. It was as if he were carried away by a monster, not his mother! The constant howling hurt her ears and head too, even as the scent of pine needles and the warmth from the steam coming from the bath-tub lent her a measure of peace.

But now that she was alone again, a measure of freedom was added into the situation, and she started to relax. Besides, now she could hardly hear Carnistir's screaming. (How fast could these people walk, anyway? Or perhaps someone at last managed to soothe Carnistir's senseless misery?) And without all the loud noises and the struggling of the little one, and also without the hostess looking on too, she could truly appreciate how beautiful the bathroom looked, with the added little details that she had missed, that separated it further fron what her family had at the Burrow.

The unoccupied floor on the middle of the bathroom was entirely covered by tiles made and shaped to somewhat imitate the flowy patterns of sand on the seashore. The bath-tub sat opposite the door across the open space, stretching flush against the uneven surface of the wall that seemed to be made up of big stones piled on top of each other and glued together by a grainy material, which was the same everywhere she looked in here. And beside the tantelising tub of fragrant hot water, on the only even surface of the floor, lay a fluffy footrug that looked more comfortable and well-kept than her best bath-towel, making Ginny hesitate to put a toe on it even if she were clean.

The bathroom looked quite natural all in all, really. There were two foliage-covered windows – one above the wall by the bath-tub and the other mounted on the right-hand-going-in side providing fresh, earthy-smelling air and privacy at once. The natural, soft colours of the walls, floor, bath-tub, counter and shelves helped, alongside the discrete illumination of – what Ginny assumed – softly-shining gold-and-silver covered lamps. And even the simple wicker hamper and the two large unpolished earthenware jugs of hot water parked on the left-hand-going-in near the waste contraption added tangibility to the natural beauty.

It was too much, actually, for someone like her, in her own opinion. This was fitting for rich families and famous personages, not the littlest daughter of a poor family.

But self-deprecating thoughts would carry her only so far, and presently practicality won over the lack of self-reassurance about using this bathroom for herself. So she looked around once more and noted what else inside the bathroom that she would or might need.

And in her closer scrutiny, she found that there was no self-cleaning chamber pot, and no talking mirror either. However, the available mirror hanging on the bit of free wall opposite the bath-tub, on the right-hand-going-in, adult-sized and twice as wide, was polished into sharp reflection, without any smudge or age or even vapour left from some wandering steam-curls. (She had previously thought this was a foe-window or an excellent painting, truth be told.) And there was a contraption to replace the chamber pot that looked even more comfortable than what she had seen in Muggle toilets when her family had visited Muggle museums, also, parked somewhat near the bath-tub, but on the left-hand-going-in and nearer to the door.

She wandered over to the mirror first, frowning in displeasure and unease at the unkempt little girl in tatty nightdress and with dirty feet that looked back glumly at her. Then, trying to feel neither guilty nor homesick at how her mother would berate her for looking so filthy when visiting to anyone's home, she crossed the bumpy surface of the artfully-unevenly-shaped light-brown tiles to the chamber-pot contraption and tried to recall and figure out the usage of all its parts before she had to use it. There was no use crying over spilt milk, Mum had always said. Besides, Carnistir might try to barge into the bathroom soon, if going with her own experience when she was smaller: trying to barge into the bathroom when somebody was in in order to join the said person in showering.

Soon, her ratty clothes went into the hamper, and Ginny stepped over the beautiful footrug and straight into the bath-tub, its nearly-hot water milky with pine-scenting vapour and soap bubbles.

It felt heavenly, although the water scolded her first. The stress melted out of her, it seemed, as she lowered herself into the tub and just sat there, neck-deep among the fresh-smelling soap bubbles. She did nothing for several moments, consequently, just stretching out in the tub and leaning back slightly. She felt like royalty now.

She only began cleaning herself, after jolting from a light doze, when she heard two voices bickering outside the bathroom, coming nearer rapidly. One sounded like Nerdanel, and the other sounded like the man from the forge, and they seemed unhappy with each other… or perhaps with each other's decision to shelter her?

Her heart squeezed with dread. The relaxing aroma of the pine needles lost its entrancing quality to her, and stress returned into her mind like a retracted elastic band. Her hurried, shaking hands nearly knocked the delicate-looking bottles off the counter when she grabbed one, hoping it contained the soap to lather her body; but fortunately the accident did not happen, and it was really some sort of soap that she had taken: gooey, melting into slippery bubbles on her skin, and smelling faintly like flowers. Still, the noisy clinking of the bottles crashing against each other must have been heard from outside, because now the voices ceased bickering and Ginny could hear nothing for a long, tense moment.

She was lathering her hair with the aromatic goo from the same bottle, afraid of wasting too much of her host family's disposable items, when the door opened without any preamble and the owners of the voices came in. She squeaked and hunkered down even lower in the bath-tub, trying to cover as much of herself as she could, blushing furiously meanwhile. She had never bathed in the direct presence of strangers, her mother had forbidden her to also, and—

The man said something a little sharply at the woman, whirled around then left without a backward glance at her, and the woman shouted something in an angry tone at his rapidly-retreating back. And now Ginny had another uncomfortable situation to deal with. The couple appeared to be fighting, and she was the subject of their dispute. Her parents rarely fought, given that her father usually caved in to her mother's demands; but they had, nonetheless, and those rare instances had been quite unpleasant to her; and this instance, albeit among strangers, was no less distressing.

Nerdanel threw her a veiled look, and Ginny used the moment to dunk her head underwater on the pretense of rincing her hair. She surfaced only when she could not hold her breath any longer.

Nerdanel was gone. But a small pile of what looked like clothing articles now lay beside the red towel on the counter. And when she looked towards the door, her eyes caught the black ones of Carnistir, brimming with tears.

There was another, younger child around who was upset with the hard, sharp tones of the adults.

It was why, when the little boy asked to join her in the bath-tub (through gestures and senses only), she complied. She had never been a big sister, although she wanted to, and now was her chance, even though it came in a situation she would rather avoid.

After all, nobody could choose what they wanted in a dream, could they?


	5. Chapter 5: Positions in a Dream

Title: In dreams, To Whom I Never Have: Positions in a Dream  
Author: Eärillë

Number: B9  
Challenge: Smells: Fish

Summary:  
Sometimes the dream that comes true is more horrifying than the dream itself, and living the said dream is even worse. A seven-year-old Ginny Weasley experiences that first-hand. But perhaps, there will still be a silver-lining even in the worst situation?

Rating: G  
Warnings: first draft

Characters: Caranthir, Celegorm, Fëanor, Ginny Weasley, Maedhros, Maglor, Nerdanel  
Genres: Crossover, Family, Friendship, Mystery  
Place: Tirion: outside of  
Timeline: Year of Trees: Noontide of Valinor  
Word Count (in MS Word): 2,344

Notes:  
The author originally wanted to post this fic for SWG's Birthday Challenge in 2010, but did not get it in time. With a few additions and tweaks, here it is again, presented anew. And the credit again goes to Dawn Felagund's marvellous work Another Man's Cage, of which the author borrowed many things for this (chaptered) story. It is all in third person limited point of view and past tense, though, unlike in AMC.  
In this chapter (and the next ones), Maedhros (Maitimo, Russandol, Nelyo) is 48 years old, Maglor (Makalaurë or Káno) is 39 years old, Celegorm (Tyelkormo or Turko) is 14 years old, and Caranthir (Carnistir or Moryo) is 3 years old. In human standard, their ages are roughly comparable to (respectively) 16 ½, 15, 7 and 3 (or 2 ½) years old.

Edit: Author's Notes:  
Well, I should've worked on others in consequent succession before this, perhaps, but my muse wouldn't let me rest before I've finished destroying and rebuilding what I've got for this story so far and posting them too, so here we are. There is just one more chapter before I finish what I've got so far for B2MeM 2012, and then I shall have to rummage for other challenges – either from B2MeM 2012 or other sources – to help me through this story. Oh, and this chapter's apparently even longer than the last one, so my prediction didn't come true after all. Well, I can't help it. Ginny needs to form her own view on Fëanor's boys, doesn't she? I didn't do it well enough in the original piece, sadly, so a lot of this is new material I worked on from scratch.  
Well, until next time, bye-bye!

**In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have  
Chapter 5: Positions in a Dream**

By the time Nerdanel had arrived back in the bathroom, having given a perfunctory brisk knock on the door before barging in, Ginny was already out of the water now gone lukewarm and so was Carnistir. She had dried the both of them off, in fact, although Carnistir was still wrapped in the damp red towel that looked like a weird, overlarge toga on his miniscule body, while Ginny with false certainty had clad herself in the latter set of clothes Nerdanel had last delivered to her, and also put on the pair of worn boots which had been stowed under the stone counter. (The clothes already available on the bathroom's counter appeared too large when she had scrutinised it, so she had quickly forgone the thought of trying on it.) The woman looked calmer than before, albeit still frazzled somehow, and the remnence of her indignation shifted into blatant astonishment when she saw Carnistir standing leaning against Ginny's legs in boneless contentment without a peep, suckling his thumb with his eyes closed. Ginny would hazard her best gown, given just two weeks ago for her seventh birthday by Aunty Muriel to celebrate "the most magical birthday for the magical-numbered lass," that Carnistir's present behaviour was a rare occurance in the family. It made her glow with pride and a little bit of smug resentment, which she quashed swiftly remembering that Carnistir could read minds and emotions.

The not-so-nice feelings were obliterated completely anyway when Nerdanel led the both of them outside the bathroom, after Ginny had scooped the limp Carnistir into her arms. The man from earlier was standing on the middle of the sitting-room, shifting restlessly, and flanking him were the two older boys whom Ginny had seen riding on horseback towards the house, and in his arms perched the golden-haired boy from earlier in the kitchen who – now that Ginny got to look closer at him – appeared to be at the same age as she was judging from his physique and bearing. They seemed to have been waiting for the odd trio to emerge from the bathroom, judging from their stances, and the man must have particularly been waiting for her, because he put her under instant, open scrutiny the moment she went past the bathroom door. Carnistir wriggled down and out of her embrace and streaked towards the man, yelling in happiness, but Ginny did not pay attention to him at all. The man's stare was worse than Carnistir's appraising, mind-searching gaze, somehow. She again felt like a piece of metal turned round and round and judged for its fitness to be made as a tool or thrown away, but now she also felt like a defenceless chick eyed hungrily by a fierce, hungry hawk.

The awkward standstill was broken when Nerdanel, after throwing a cursory look around the small gathering, introduced the two eldest boys to her in the same way she had introduced herself earlier. "Maitimo," she said curtly while pointing at the tallest, red-haired, handsomest boy standing to the man's right. "Makalaurë," she continued in the same tone afterwards, pointing at the gangly, awkward chocolate-brown-haired younger boy on the man's left. "Tyelkormo," she ended then while waving at the golden-haired, next-to-smallest boy wriggling with contained energy in the man's arms.

Ginny pointed timidly at the man, after that, feeling that above all she should really know – without any doubt in her part – the identity of who appeared to be the head of the family of strange, unnerving beings. But before Nerdanel could speak, the man spoke up himself. "Fëanáro," he pronounced clearly, looking straight into her eyes. He nodded at her then, as if saying, "Now is your turn."

Ginny gulped, shrinking back slightly in reflex under the assault of self-consciousness. "Ginny," she said in a small voice that wavered a little. "Ginny," she repeated while waving vaguely at herself when the man's look turned questioning. She did not know should she include her family name in the introduction or not, or if she ought to courtsy at him – at the family – like she had courtsied to Nerdanel before in the bathroom. She felt quite ungainly under the scrutiny of the intimidating man, and she hated it, and she hated hating it because it made her feel like she was a snooty kid like Draco Malfoy, the one time they had passed each other in Diagon Alley during her birthday-treat trip a fortnight ago.

Thankfully, almost like before, now Carnistir came to the rescue. He mumbled something into Fëanáro's left leg knee-down as he wound his arms around it, then bit his calf. The man yelped in pain and scolded the little boy – or so it sounded – and Ginny could not help let out a smuttering of giggles past her pursed-up lips. She squeaked and covered her mouth in horror then, her cheeks heating up with mortifying embarrassment.

But, contrary to her expectation, the tips of the man's mouth twitched up into a faint smile as he glanced at her, before he resumed scolding Carnistir. He apparently let go of reprimanding his son soon though, since Carnistir, who had tensed up unhappily, slouched down to sit on his left foot like melted cheese, making the red towel that had been tidily wrapped around him partly unruffle. He must have given the black-haired boy some instruction afterwards, because Carnistir then let go of his calf and streaked towards Ginny. She was just in time to catch him before he had the chance to slam into her. He giggled as she swung him up back into her arms, and she giggled in turn when he planted a huge, sloppy kiss on her cheek, adding a surreptitious nib and a lick on it for good measure. He did love biting at people then, after all!

The large-but-feminine hand alighting on her back startled Ginny from her short-lived, playful tustle with Carnistir. She looked up, and caught Nerdanel looking with the same sheer astonishment down at her.

She grinned jovially up at the woman, buoyed by Carnistir's contagious happiness, and Nerdanel twitched a reluctant smile back at her before ushering the back-to-playing pair across the sitting-room and outside the flat proper.

But from the corner of her eye, Ginny caught the golden-haired boy – Tyelkormo? – looking jealously at her while standing just a yard away from her former spot by the bathroom door. What did he get to be jealous on? She had nothing but her dirty nightdress discarded in the bathroom hamper, the borrowed clothes she was wearing, and the borrowed pair of boots she was also wearing. But perhaps, the attire was what he was jealous about? The tunic, calf-length trousers and ankle boots seemed to be his, judging from their size – slightly larger than her own usually – and the fact that those articles seemed to be meant for a boy. Perhaps he resented having the clothes and boots lent to her by his parents probably without consulting him first?

Or, maybe, he was jealous of her current position: playing breath-blowing and tickle-tustle with a giggling and squealing Carnistir? But if so why had he not persuaded his younger brother to play with him instead? But she had to admit it, the fact that Carnistir seemed to prefer her over his older brothers and parents gave her a deep sense of pleasure.

If only all dreams were like this…

The reminder that she was most likely being trapped in a strange kind of real dream doused any positive feeling she was having, and her play with Carnistir gained a desperate, histerical tinge. In turn, Carnistir's jubilant riggling and giggling petered out, and he slumped against her in a gloomy silence. Guilt for having robbed the toddler of his merriment lumped in her stomach, and then another, bigger thing – a question – overwhelmed it: Who was she to Carnistir, if she managed beyond all expectations to get close to him? How if this charade of being his big sister got carried to far and she could not entangle herself from it when she did wake up? But really, the problem was actually the fact that it was not a charade at all, not after she had been forced by her conscience to care for the little one who had interrupted her bath.

The cold, uncomfortable topic squirmed and roiled in her innards until Nerdanel led the way into a bedroom, then motioned her to put Carnistir down on the rumpled bed standing to the far right of the room. By now Ginny's arms were getting sore, but she did not quite mind about it. The question still plagued her, but a new task distracted her, and she welcomed it whole-heartedly: again by gestures only, Nerdanel seemed to wish her to dress Carnistir in the clothes the woman was proffering. Well, whether as a sister, a servant, a friend or a nobody, she would continue taking care of the little one if permitted. So, a little encouraged by the new thought, she regained some of her earlier playful mood and turned the task into a game of sorts, which included snatching articles of clothing from each other while making noises like cats fighting and lunging towards each other's nose every time one item of clothing managed to be put on Carnistir's body.

In seemingly no time at all, they were out of the bedroom again, with Carnistir clad in a similar attire to her but in shades of dark reds and black instead of dark greens and browns, and Nerdanel escorted them back through the rooms and hallways to where Ginny vaguely remembered the kitchen was. Well, she was right, it turned out, but they only passed by the door and continued towards a glass round table in a small courtyard nearby outside instead. There the others had gathered, and there were serving dishes heaped with food on the table before them. There were two seats left: one on the left of Fëanáro's seat and the other on the right of Nerdanel's, and Nerdanel guided Ginny towards the one by Fëanáro's place on the man's beckoning gesture. She took Carnistir from Ginny right after she had taken the seat though, and carried the protesting child to the other empty place.

Ginny looked around timidly. To her left sat the red-haired tallest boy – Maitimo? – and to his left perched Telkormo, the golden-haired bundle of energy. To the boy's left Makalaurë the gangly, who was humming distractedly while reading a piece of paper, ignoring the loudly-moaning Carnistir who was trying to escape the seat on his other side. And seated side-by-side on Ginny's right, Fëanáro and Nerdanel exchanged loaded looks.

Afterwards, the family gathered around the glass table seemed to be involved in a prayer of sorts, which included speaking in turns – skipping her – of all things, before they almost simultaneously began to heap food onto their own plates. Ginny imitated the motion only when Fëanáro indicated her with a fork to do likewise, and then she was back to watching the interaction between each family member with what she hoped not-too-intrusive stare.

There were five serving dishes on the table: a large platter with several grilled fish – from the unique smell of them – piled on it, a smaller platter of crusted bread cut into cubes, a huge bowl of vegetable stew, another huge bowl of boiled potatoes, and a pot of melted cheese spiked with garlic and perhaps a little wine from the sharp rich aroma in its curling steam. Tyelkormo the golden-haired grabbed possession of the bowl of boiled potatoes before his father – or so it sounded – scolded him for that, and – judging from the sullen gesture of the boy – made him share the content with Ginny, Carnistir and his mother. Makalaurë the brown-haired and Maitimo the red-haired took possession of a fish each and tucked into them greedily, but Fëanáro did not seem to mind it because nobody else seemed interested in them. Then there was Carnistir whose plate was heaped with samples of each dish, who looked at the said plate with a doomed countenance and seemed ready to cry. On his left his mother appeared to be coaxing him to eat without any avail, save that it made him protest and whinge more.

And when Ginny looked to her right, she caught Fëanáro's eyes watching her every move, ignoring his clean, empty plate.

She gulped. With averted gaze and hands trembling, she quickly snatched a fish from its pile and spooned as much of the little bread cubes as she dared onto her plate around the fish. Then, praying inwardly that she had not gone over the polite limit of a dining guest, she soaked the fish and the bread bits with four ladlefuls of the liquid wine-garlic-cheese. She could not help salivating all the same. The fish smelled well-grilled and a little spicy, a delicacy she rarely got at home except when one of her mother's fish in the backyard pond seemed close to dying, the cheese soup smelled pleasantly strong and milky, and the stew looked quite rich.

The man piled a few boiled potatoes onto her plate and some more of the cheese soup, then ladled a brimful of the vegetable stew into a bowl, setting it by her plate.

She looked up, astonished and uncertain. Her plate now was just as fool as those of the boys and even fuller than Nerdanel's. Did it mean she was accepted, however temporarily, into the family? As a family friend perhaps? (Because it was always that way when her mother welcomed loved ones: with heaps of food.)

Fëanáro looked back bemusedly at her, lifted an eyebrow in what seemed like the replacement of a small shrug. Then he pointed at her plate before he loaded his own plate with almost the same selections, looking away from her and chiding Carnistir for – or so it sounded – lingering too long on his meal.

Warmth burst and spread from her chest to all over her body, creating pleasantly tingling feeling in her limbs and making her head lighter. Grinning happily, she began to attack the delicious-looking pile on her plate with relish.

She was accepted, at least by Fëanáro.


End file.
